


I Want To Believe

by Ragnarok_n_roll



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aliens, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 19:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3867370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragnarok_n_roll/pseuds/Ragnarok_n_roll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a not-so-stunning turn of events, Aziraphale and Crowley must save the world yet again - this time from extraterrestrial life forms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want To Believe

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to [movite-himosomo](http://movite-himosomo.tumblr.com/) for the amazing artwork! You can see it on their art blog [here](http://the-painting-halfling.tumblr.com/post/117975228633/happy-25th-birthday-good-omens-these-pictures)

The lock on the side door to the bookshop was oddly sticky today, Aziraphale mused as he balanced a week’s worth of groceries on one arm and struggled with the key. It was not a sunny day - in fact, it was the standard freezing drizzle one could expect in late November and he was quite anxious to get inside.

Finally, after setting the groceries on the door-step and giving the lock the attention it demanded, he gained entrance into the warm, safe haven of the shop, the sweet solitude and-

“Good Morning, Angel.” Crowley’s eyes twinkled over his newspaper, his sunglasses set upon a precarious pile of not-yet-catalogued books. Aziraphale scowled.

“Take your feet off my desk.” he said in as demanding a tone he could muster. Crowley merely folded his newspaper, entertained. “Please.”

“The weather is terrible, isn’t it.” he grinned, but conceded to Aziraphale’s irritation and swung his feet down to the floor. “I came over to check we’re still on for tonight?”

“Of course” Aziraphale smiled. Crowley glanced away self-consciously for a moment, then gave a slightly strangled smile in return.

“I’ve got to meet with Hastur this morning,” Crowley said, apologetically. “Otherwise I’d stay to help you catalogue these books.”

“Good luck.” said Aziraphale, and then Crowley was gone, leaving his newspaper to land on the table with a fwump. Sighing, Aziraphale took Crowley’s place in the chair. The newspaper declared “GETWESTLONDON” in bold, black letters. Underneath, the headline “MYSTERY OBJECTS SEEN IN SKY OVER HYDE PARK” promised a “true story told by two high-school students and their grandmother”.

He was just about to reach for the first book on the pile when the bell on door rang and a young woman walked in with a pile of flyers. This was strange, because he had not yet opened the shop (and in fact, rarely did until well after lunch). Damn Crowley. 

“Good morning,” she said, with a disturbing amount of sincerity. Normally when someone said ‘good morning’ it was out of habit or politeness, but this woman seemed to truly believe it was a good morning, despite the grey drizzle she had just stepped out of. “I’m Diya, a representative of BUFORA. We’re currently looking for possible witnesses to phenomena recently sighted-”

“I’m sorry, I doubt I can help you with that.” said Aziraphale, rather shortly. His gaze strayed to the uncatalogued books. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Uh - well.” began Diya, wrong-footed. “No, thank you. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

She made it halfway to the shop door before turning in sudden remembrance, brandishing the flyers with rekindled enthusiasm.

“I almost forgot,” she walked back to the desk and handed Aziraphale several leaflets. “If you do see anything, or are at all interested, you can come along to one of our meetings, details on the flyer.”

“Thank you.” said Aziraphale, gazing down at the brightly coloured leaflets dubiously. Once she was gone, Aziraphale locked the door behind her and returned to his books.

\---

 

Which was it - 1940? 1950?” asked Aziraphale, considering the menu intently. 

“1950.” Crowley twirled a fork between his fingers idly. Aziraphale through him an irritated glance. “Do you remember that vinyard? Bordeaux, I think - wonderful weather.”

“Which made it that much easier to set the place alight.” said Aziraphale, sourly. “Yes, I do.” 

“Don’t be like that, Angel.” said Crowley, placing the fork delicately back on the table. “Ligur demanded it. He likes explosions. Besides, it was a beautiful sight.” 

Aziraphale made a noncommittal sound, but let the matter rest, choosing instead to watch the sun filtering through the trees as it sunk slowly below the horizon.

“You know,” he began after an interval of silence, his gaze still set on the trees outside although it was almost too dark to see them. “I wonder if extra-terrestrial life does exist.”

Crowley tilted his head and gave Aziraphale a contemplative look (or as much as he could through his sunglasses)

“It’s an interesting possibility.” he clasped his hands together on the table. “We never saw Him create anything other than the earth - although that doesn’t rule it out.” 

“Personally, though?” asked Aziraphale.

“I don’t think so. Not that I claim to know the Plan, but so far it hasn’t seemed to include aliens.” he smiled. “Do you believe?”

“I’m inclined to,” said Aziraphale hesitantly, then, to head off Crowley’s look of amusement, “I just feel it’s likely there were other worlds made, maybe with other Plans. Isn’t it arrogant to believe we’re His only children?”

“Sounds blasphemous to me.” Crowley grinned, his teeth glinting in the yellowish light of the restaurant. “what brought this on, anyway?”

“A young woman came into my shop rather early this morning,” said Aziraphale with a pointed look at Crowley, who didn’t quite have the decency to look sheepish but managed a vaguely apologetic expression. “She was with a UFO organisation.”

“Oh yes, I got a leaflet through the door this morning. BUFORA, wasn’t it?” said Crowley. “I would have put it in the compost, but I wouldn’t want to give the plants ideas.”

“I wonder what those people actually saw.” said Aziraphale, thoughtfully.

“Probably just their imaginations.” Crowley motioned for the waiter to bring the bill. “You know, I never did find out if Roswell was Hell’s doing or just a popular conspiracy theory.”

“I always thought it was your people.” said Aziraphale. “My superiors were very upset about it. They were convinced I could have done something about it despite the fact I was in Paris trying to work out a peace treaty at the time.”

 

\---

 

Aziraphale hadn’t been to Crowley’s flat for quite some time, but it looked almost exactly the same as it had when he had last been there, with the exception of his plants of which there seemed to be far fewer. He slumped onto the sofa, jarring his back, having miscalculated the give in the seat. Possibly the least comfortable couch he had ever had the displeasure of sitting on. He wondered if Crowley ever actually used it.

Crowley was fiddling with the coffee machine, looking more and more frustrated as it released only a trickle of lukewarm water every time he pressed the button. With an innocent blink from Aziraphale it gave a loud clunk and a stream of steaming black coffee almost overflowed the mug.

“Angel.” Crowley turned with narrowed eyes, but Aziraphale only smiled guilelessly.

“Yes, dear?” Aziraphale accepted the mug of coffee without comment. Crowley sat down with only a slight huff. They sipped in silence, relishing the warmth on their rain-chilled skin.

Next to the kitchen door the telephone emitted a soft whine as it hung off the hook. The wall behind it was slightly blackened.

“How are relations with Hastur?” he asked, contemplating the dregs of his coffee and feeling suitably warm. 

“Icy.” he said, dryly. “He doesn’t trust me after what happened, but he and his superiors can’t seem to think of a way to fire me. It’s alright for heaven - send all of the sub-standard angels to hell - what can hell do with an unruly demon.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’ve been put under supervision.” said Aziraphale. “There are concerns about my loyalty and my - how did they put it - ‘affiliation with unsavoury parties’”

“So you’re being watched?” asked Crowley, confused.

“Oh, no.” Aziraphale gave a benign smile. “Adriel has returned to heaven with complaints. I may have… accidentally locked him in the basement.”

“You didn’t.” said Crowley admiringly.

“Well, I’m sure it didn’t do him any harm.” said Aziraphale, failing completely to look at all contrite. “It was his fault. He was snooping around and the basement door locks when it closes.”

“It does?”

“It does now, in any case. I must have changed it since you last went down there. I’ve been worrying about burglars.”

“Well, of course.” said Crowley, eyes flickering with amusement. “Burglars. Those books of yours are extremely expensive, angel.” 

“Exactly.” said Aziraphale. He gave a cough.

“I’ll get us some tea.” said Crowley, standing up and stretching. 

He hadn’t stayed in the flat for longer than a few hours in months, and a layer of dust had built up on all of the surfaces. He was surprised the angel hadn’t said anything. Probably out of tact, he thought as he brushed the table with the flat of his hand. It came away grey and slightly fluffy. With a grimace, he gave a half-hearted attempt at willing it away. He couldn’t be dealing with dust everywhere - it probably wasn’t good for the plants. He gave a withering orchid a drop of water and a guilty glare. Since the ‘apocalypse’ he’d spent far more time at the bookshop than his own home.

When he returned, Aziraphale didn’t look quite awake, his eyelids drooping and his head resting on his hand as he stared blankly at the television.

“Here you go, angel.” said Crowley, his voice softer than he intended.

“Thank you, dear.” Aziraphale returned with a yawn. Crowley tried not to stare - a sleepy Aziraphale was a rare sight and he found him quite charming. He sat down on the sofa, leaning heavily on the arm rest. 

“You know, it’s strange,” Aziraphale said, and slouched into Crowley’s side, his head almost on Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley almost flinched in surprise. He blew into his mug to avoid looking Aziraphale in the eye. “I’ve been sleeping so much recently. It’s almost as if my vessel requires it.”

When Crowley said nothing, Aziraphale looked up, caught his eye.

“I wish you would relax, my dear.” he said with just enough of a frown in his voice that Crowley did so immediately, letting his head hang off the back of the sofa, his eyes focusing on the ceiling. Warmth spread through him.

“Sorry.” he said, hyper-aware of Aziraphale’s measured breathing on his neck. Things had been very strange recently. It it weren’t for the fact that he could still perform miracles, he might’ve thought they were becoming more… human.

He moved to tell Aziraphale as much, but the angel had fallen asleep, his mouth hanging half open and his eyes shut. He looked so peaceful that Crowley didn’t have the heart to move him. Instead, he rescued the television remote from the floor and watched late-night programming with the volume turned right down until he too fell asleep.

\---

 

The sun had not quite risen when Aziraphale struck out for home. He left Crowley on the sofa, muttering in his sleep, and wondered momentarily at how he himself had slept mostly through the night.

He stepped out and his train of thought was lost as he was immediately attacked by the miserable damp, the looming clouds overhead releasing a steady deluge of rain. Glancing at his watch he realised it was earlier than he'd thought it was by about half an hour. With a surreptitious glance around, he produced an umbrella, but the wind tugged it almost to snapping point, rendering it mostly useless. With a sigh, he resigned himself to the wet. He turned right onto Earlham street, his head bowed against the wind. It was only a twenty minute walk back to the bookshop after all.

He soldiered on, his eyes on the junction a few hundred yards in the distance. He was almost home. Just there was Earlham street. He’d turn right - but that couldn’t be right. He’d just turned onto Earlham street. He must have imagined it.

After turning right onto Earlham street for what he was sure was the third time, he stopped in front of the traffic lights. Had he somehow got turned around? But this was Earlham street - only about 600 yards from his bookshop. He could almost see it!

He glanced at his watch (seven-thirty a.m.), pressed the button on the traffic light, then - but that couldn’t be the time! He was sure he’d been walking for a least fifteen minutes, and it had been seven-twenty-five when he had left. Come to think of it, Soho was very quiet for this time in the morning - not a single soul in sight. His breath hung eerily in the air in front of him.

As the lights still hadn’t changed, and there didn’t seem to be any oncoming traffic, Aziraphale marched worriedly across the road, his shoes squelching uncomfortably, and his lower legs soaked by the splash. He heard the sound of an engine in the distance, and breathed a sigh of relief. Paranoia, it was just paranoia, and an unusually quiet morning, probably on account of the terrible weather, Crowley would laugh at him and-

He turned the corner onto Earlham street. Impulsively, he looked at his watch. The gold second-hand had stopped ticking. He turned a full circle in the middle of the street. The only sound was an engine-like hum moving towards him.

A light swung across the street, illuminating every rain droplet. Aziraphale could faintly make out a circular outline silhouetted against the heavy clouds.

“And what the-” He squawked as he felt his feet leave the ground.

\---

 

When Crowley woke, the first thing he noticed was the silence. This was odd, as he usually left the television on, giving a low buzz in the background. Aziraphale had probably turned it off.

The second thing he noticed was that Aziraphale had left, and quite a while ago if the cold mug on the coffee table was any indication. He wondered why he’d left so early.

The third thing he noticed was a horrible feeling of foreboding, and an inexplicable urge to call the Aziraphale, to check if he was alright - or something. To avoid examining his motives, he picked up the phone and dialled the bookshop.

The phone rang. And rang. Crowley sat, tense, his own breathing rattling in his ear above the ring tone. Aziraphale was probably just… not in the room.. or something.

“Aziraphale, if you don’t bloody pick up I’m going to-”

“Good Morning. This is - be quiet Crowley - A. Ziraphale. I’m not available at the moment, but leave a message and I’ll endeavour to get back to you” 

‘not likely, though.’ Crowley could be heard in the background.

With a hiss, he attempted to slam the phone back onto it’s stand. Wasn’t as satisfying as slamming the receiver into the cradle - he’d have to swap back. Not all modern inventions were improvements.

Grabbing his shades from the desk, he marched out of the door. Repeatedly calling the angel’s phone wasn’t good for his dignity. He’d be better off barging into the bookshop and finding out what was going on for himself.

There were a surprising number of obstacles on the 5 minute drive to Aziraphale’s, and after each one his feeling of foreboding became more insistent. The Bentley’s battery had run down, and nothing would persuade it to start again. After several minutes of attempting to cajole and then threaten it, he turned his persuasive powers to talking the young man from the flat above him into jump-starting it. It all took far too long for his liking.

Once he was moving, he relaxed minutely - at least until he hit the barriers at the bottom of Earlham street. Apparently there had been some kind of accident. Grinding his teeth, he took the long route around the back and hoped to something that his worry was unfounded.

When he finally arrived, there were no parking spaces anywhere. Tense with irritation, he forced the Bentley into a small gap between two buildings.

“Um- excuse me sir-” A hassled looking policeman approached him. “Sir. You can’t park there. Um. I’m not sure how you parked there, but you can’t-”

“Don’t worry about it.” said Crowley in his most persuasive tone. The policeman wandered off confusedly. Crowley rushed on.

Hammering on the locked door of the shop did him no good, and neither did ringing the bell. He fished his flat keys out of his pocket and willed them to fit. The door gave a satisfying click, and was shoved aside as Crowley marched on through.

“Aziraphale?” He called, but his voice was swallowed by the muffling effect of hundreds of books. The kettle was cold and there were no half-full mugs lying around next to the till, a sure sign that Aziraphale was not home. He sat down behind the desk. Of course, Aziraphale could simply be out running errands, but the bookshop didn’t feel as though it had been in use - the heating wasn’t on, the books were in the same piles that they had been in the day before. Where else could he be?

There was the accident on Earl’s street to consider. What had happened there that had forced the police to shut off the whole area?

Frowning, he left through the side door, remembering to lock up on his way out. 

He walked towards Earl’s street, fully expecting (hoping for) a car pile up of some kind. He was not prepared for what he was actually confronted with.

Instead of a crashed car surrounded by solemn police officers, the entire street had been torn apart, as if it had been in some kind of highly localised earthquake. The traffic lights had been uprooted, as if by the hand of - well, God himself. (Crowley highly doubted this. He had never met the great being, but the idea that They would stoop to trashing streets was unlikely to say the least)

 

\---

 

Aziraphale woke up - although it might have been more accurate to say that he became aware of his surroundings, considering that he did not remember going to sleep in the first. There was also the question of where he was. The ground beneath him was damp, and when he opened his eyes, the darkness gave way to a greyish sky, heavy with storm clouds.

He closed his eyes again - just to reorient himself, and - He was in large room, strapped to a table. He reached out, mildly suggesting to the straps that bound him that they might loosen a little. Nothing happened. He rotated his head as far as it could within the bindings, but he couldn’t see anything.

He could sense a presence at the far side of the room, but he couldn’t quite see it. It approached, but stayed out of his eyeline until the moment it was standing over him, huge eyes bulging out of an off-green head-

He shook his head sharply. He could deal with that later.

Standing up with a grimace, he attempted to wipe the mud from his hands onto his trousers. This did not work, however, due to the fact that his trousers were already soaked in mud. He held his hands out in front of him and willed them clean. Nothing happened. He frowned, then shook them, concentrating as hard as he could.

A wave of horror engulfed him, and he held his hands up to the pale light and prayed. A glop of mud dripped off his thumb, but he rather thought that was gravity and not any kind of miracle. He took a deep breath to counteract the sudden pit of existential terror in his stomach and pretended with all of his being that everything was normal.

Or as normal as it could be in this situation. Desperately hoping that the weather would hold for the time being, he squinted into the mist. How the - how in the heavens had he got here? He was standing in field, but he could hear occasional roar of cars on a nearby road. He struck out, his feet slipping with every step.

In the back of his mind, he could feel that something had happened, and that something had attempted to change his memory of it. Stuck in a field in the middle of - “Welcome to Chesham!” a sign ahead of him announced - stuck in the middle of nowhere, he ignored it. The first thing to do was to find somewhere warm and dry in which he could clean his clothes. He couldn’t possibly do any real thinking in this state. Perhaps a mug of cocoa was in order as well.

He’d have to call Crowley, too. Perhaps he’d know something.

 

\---

 

“No, he’s not a minor.” Crowley paced the confines of his flat like a tiger in a cage.

“It’s A-Z-I-R-A-P-H-A-L-E.” he pulled at the fraying cuff of his jacket.

“Yes, it’s been less than forty-eight hours since he went missing.” 

“Yes I am certain.” with a loud rip, the hem was lost. Crowley frowned. “You won’t even file a report? But-”

He chucked the receiver onto the sofa and then followed it’s flight, landing with a thump on his back. Where could he be? Admittedly, Aziraphale had simply not been around for periods of time in the past, as much as Crowley had - er - hibernated extensively, and been forced to take assignments in places he would have rather not. Somehow, though, he knew this was not the same. They’d been closer this past century, and he couldn’t help but feel that the angel would have told him if he was going somewhere. He closed his eyes. Maybe he could track him down by-

There was a sudden rap at the door. Crowley opened one eye slowly. Could that be -? He jumped from the sofa and pulled open the door.

“Angel, -”

“Hello-“ The person behind the door was not definitely not Aziraphale. She gave him an apologetic look. “Sorry, if you’re expecting someone, if this is a bad time-” 

“No, no, it’s fine.” said Crowley, annoyed with himself. He rubbed his face and took in her clipboard and pile of leaflets tiredly. “What is it?”

“What the- I mean your-” she stuttered, staring. Eyes Crowley thought. Damned eyes. he slipped his glasses out of his pocket, raised his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry?” he asked with a snakeish smile.

“For a moment there I - er - it must’ve been the light.” she looked a trifle suspicious. Not everyone is as open to suggestion as would be useful. 

“You were saying?”

“I’m Diya and I work for BUFORA - British UFO Research Association.” she said, standing up straight with purpose in her eyes. “We’re looking for witnesses of a suspected sighting.”

“I see.” he sighed "and where was this sighting?"

“Were you around Earl’s street on the 23rd?"

"No." said Crowley, quickly. He backtracked. On the twenty-third - the twenty-third was the day Aziraphale went missing, and Earl’s street - Earl’s street was just down the road from-

"Thank you for your time." The Diya smiled, and made as if to leave.

"Wait!" exclaimed Crowley. "I wasn't there, but I think - I think my friend might have been."

She turned around.

"He left early on the 23rd, and I assume walked back to his flat in Mayfair." Crowley sighed "it’s no use to you though, I haven't seen him since.”

"You haven't seen him?" Her brow furrowed "Why?"

"He’s missing, I think" Crowley ran a hand over his hair "the police have been no help - he's not a minor, so there's nothing they can do, apparently."

"Really?" she asked, almost breathy with excitement. Crowley gave a bemused frown. "Maybe he was abducted!"

She scribbled something down on her clipboard.

"Do you know what time he left your flat?" She asked

"I'm not sure. It must've been before nine, but I wasn't awake when he left." Crowley felt uncomfortable at the sympathetic smile she gave him. What did she know? Why he was even answering her questions was beyond him. He doubted Aziraphale had been abducted by aliens, of all things.

Behind him, the telephone began to ring, shrill and loud next to the scratching of her pen, cutting through his thoughts. 

“Do you mind if I get that?” asked Crowley. Diya barely acknowledged him, still writing.

Momentarily, he wondered who could be calling. Perhaps the police had changed their minds - or maybe - no. No point in getting his hopes up. He answered the call.

"Crowley?” A voice said after a moment of silence.

“Aziraphale!” exclaimed Crowley, unwittingly betraying his usual cool demeanor. “I- is that you?”

“Y-”

“Where the h- where on earth have you been?” Crowley cut in. “I’ve been worr- trying to get hold of you for the last two days.”

He fell silent, aware that he’d revealed more that he’d intended.

“I don’t know myself,” Aziraphale said eventually, sounding rather tired. “I woke up in a field, you know.”

“Sorry.” said Crowley, and was surprised to find he meant it. The line went silent. 

“You wouldn’t have heard anything about aliens would you?” asked Aziraphale. Crowley glanced at Diya, who was still writing on her clipboard, in disbelief.

“There’s a woman here right now looking for witnesses to paranormal activity around Earls Street.” Crowley said slowly.

“Ah.” Aziraphale hummed. “That would explain it.” 

“What?” asked Crowley, bemused.

“You’d better come down to - er - Chesham.” said Aziraphale. He yawned hugely. “The - Ivy House hotel.”

“Ok.” said Crowley, attempting to regain his composure. He put down the telephone.

“So.” said Diya, brightly. “Let’s go and find your friend.”

Crowley gave her a dubious look.

...

 

Having put down the phone, Aziraphale lay back on the bed, a wave of exhaustion hitting him. He had never been so glad to see a bed or a shower in his life. Something about trudging through drenched south-east British countryside, he thought, as he fell asleep.

A harsh light was shining on his face, effectively blinding him. Someone - something stood over him, producing a strange humming sound as it tapped on a screen.

“It has similar anatomy to the native species,” The figure hummed, and Aziraphale, in some way, understood it as if it had spoken in plain English. Thank God for the gift of the Holy Spirit. “but it’s giving off energy of some kind. I can’t isolate it.” 

The light shut off abruptly, and his vision returned in increments, white spots floating before his eyes. The being seemed to be speaking to someone, but the response was too faint to hear.

“If there are too many like this one, it may hinder our efforts.”

Aziraphale squinted. Had God created these beings too? Or were they the creation of some other deity? The implications -

The being picked a sharp object from the table, and Aziraphale found he had more important things to be worrying about. It was facing him now, and his eyes had adjusted to the light. It was quite short, with eyes that took up most of it’s face - no mouth, but two nostril-like slits in the centre of it’s face.

“I’m going to try to dampen this energy.” The being said, looking quite green in the light. “Then I’ll tag it, remove it’s memory and return it.”

Aziraphale tried to move his head so that he could see what the being was doing. Was this ‘energy’ the miracles? Did his God-given influence have some kind of tangible, scientific presence? What if- 

Aziraphale groaned and rolled over. Another impending end of the world, it seemed. Just what they needed.

 

\---

 

Now that they were out of London, Crowley had high hopes for reaching Aziraphale within the hour, if not sooner. He could cheat a little, push the car to go a bit faster than it should. It was tempting, but glancing across at Diya in the passenger seat, he decided against it. She would definitely notice - far too sharp for Crowley’s liking. 

“So.” he said, grasping for something to say. He hated to drive in silence. Usually he would listen to music, but he didn’t particularly feel like having his taste judged by a stranger. He got enough of that from Aziraphale. “How did you become interested in extra-terrestrials?” 

“My sister was abducted.” Diya said. Something about the tone of her voice didn’t exactly invite further questions. 

Crowley resigned himself to driving only to the low hum of the engine.

 

\---

 

A loud knocking at the door woke him up.

“Aziraphale?” It was Crowley. How long had he been asleep? He groaned and sat up. 

“‘Door’s open.” He managed, rubbing his eyes and yawning. 

“Morning, angel” said Crowley as he walked, his voice suspiciously free of irony. In fact, he sounded almost concerned. He paused at the foot of the bed, forehead furrowed.

“You’ve been sleeping.”

“I’ve been unaccountably exhausted.” said Aziraphale, standing unsteadily. “I don’t feel quite right.” 

He managed a few more steps before dizziness overtook him. Crowley was at his arm almost instantaneously.”

“Sit down angel, you look as if you’re about to faint.”

Aziraphale allowed himself to be lowered gently to the bed. Crowley sat down in the chair next to the bed, eyes questioning but not saying anything.

“I think they made me more human.” Aziraphale said, eventually. Crowley raised his eyebrows, only slightly impatiently. “I can’t perform miracles. Even small ones.” 

Crowley paled.

“You were really abducted by aliens?” he asked, although Aziraphale had the feeling that it was not the question he really wanted answering.

“Unless I had an extremely detailed hallucination.” said Aziraphale, laying down. It was at that moment that he noticed Diya standing tentatively in the doorway. “Oh! I met you the other day.”

“You own that bookshop that’s never open!” she said, her hesitance dissipating. “Were you really abducted?”

Aziraphale nodded and she took a tape-recorder from her bad.

“Do you remember? Would you mind telling me?”

Aziraphale obliged, sitting up straighter, his eyes distant. Diya listened, wide-eyed and attentive. 

As he talked, however, Crowley became increasingly aware that Aziraphale was leaving parts of the story out. He kept hesitating, stumbling mid-sentence, and then continuing. It could be exhaustion, but he seemed coherent otherwise.

“Then I realised - well, I mean to say, I woke up.” Aziraphale finished. Diya raised an eyebrow questioningly, and he added. “In a field a few miles away. It was raining.”

“Could you find that field again, do you think?” asked Crowley

“I’m - not sure.” Aziraphale closed his eyes, frowned. “I think - probably.”

Crowley looked up, surprised.

“Pass me my shoes.” said Aziraphale, suddenly energised.

“You want to go now?”

“Yes.”

“You know,” said Diya, standing. “you remember more about your abduction than anyone else I have ever interviewed.”

 

…

 

The road was rather longer than he remembered, and, as they drove along, Crowley driving slower than Aziraphale had ever seen and Diya craning around his seat to watch the road ahead, he could feel the energy draining from him. The fields all looked the same - muddy gate after muddy gate, he was only sure that it was further, that somehow none of these fields were the one he had woken up in.

"Are you sure you know where we are?" asked Crowley after about ten minutes, looking quite miserable.

"yes." said Aziraphale, sharply. Far too sharply, really. Crowley pretended not to notice.  

They drove on.

"Actually," said Aziraphale, now leaning on Crowley so heavily that he could only take small shuffling steps "I might not be completely certain." 

"Shall we go back?" Crowley asked, looking at Aziraphale in concern. He shook his head 

"I don't know where we are, but I’m sure it’s just up ahead” prompted by Crowley’s bemused expression, he qualified: “I can’t explain it.” 

He gave a determined glare and leant forward in his seat, scanning the side of the road for some kind of landmark, something to navigate from. Glancing back, he caught a sympathetic smile from Diya. He smiled wanly in return.

 

…

 

“This is it.” Aziraphale sat at length.

“As in, you give up?” asked Diya.

“No.” said Aziraphale. “This is the field I was.. dropped in.”

“If you’re sure.” said Crowley, doubtfully. They clambered out of the car and Aziraphale, overestimating the strength left in his legs, all-but collapsed against the fence.

“Fantastic.” said Diya, helping him up. Aziraphale accepted her hand gratefully and stumbled to his feet. “There doesn’t seem to be much here.” 

She was already through the gate, squinting into the mist. Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and tugged him gently through the gate. Crowley stared at their joined hands for a moment, then took in the view.

It was a large, wet field. There was nothing much to make it really stand out from any other large wet field. A few steps further, and he reconsidered; it was a large wet field with a few miserable-looking cows, huddled in the corner. He glanced at Aziraphale, who seemed quite disorientated. He turned a full circle, before pointing to a spot next to the hedge which hid the road from view.

“That’s where I woke up” He said, his forehead creased. There was nothing to suggest that there had been an alien spacecraft. Standing in the middle of a field, damp and miserable, the whole idea seemed preposterous. But Aziraphale had seen aliens, was suffering from some strange lethargy, and despite all of his misgivings, Crowley believed him. 

“There’s got to be something here.” He said, more out of hope than any real confidence. They walked a little further, shoes slowly soaking through as they walked through the long grass. 

“Hey!” Diya exclaimed, a few metres ahead. “I think I’ve found something.”

A strip of the grass about a metre wide had been burned to a crisp, curving across the field in a circle easily 100 metres across. 

“It’s a crop circle!” she said, taking a camera from her bag and taking a photo.

“I didn’t dream it, then.” Aziraphale said steadily, not quite relieved or anxious. Crowley squeezed his arm and immediately felt ridiculous.

They walked the circumference of the circle, but there was nothing more to be found. Aziraphale sat down, suddenly too exhausted to move any further. The sun in the sky seemed much higher than when he had last looked. Glancing at his watch, he realised that it was half past eleven. They couldn’t have been in the field for over an hour. 

“We’ve lost time.” he said, startling Diya and Crowley, who’d been talking about getting back to the hotel. “It’s half past eleven.”

“It can’t be.” Crowley said firmly, then looked at his watch, eyebrows drawing together, half-hidden by the lenses of his shades. He looked up at the sun, high in the sky. 

“Maybe the aliens are returning.” said Diya with ill-concealed excitement.

“I lost time when I was abducted” said Aziraphale, climbing unsteadily to his feet. Crowley had an arm around his shoulders before he could so much as waver in his step. He smiled up at him, affection momentarily overriding his overpowering sense of foreboding.

It was just like it had been on Earl’s street. The clouds rolled in and the light dimmed until they could no longer see more than the dark outline of the hedge in the distance and a steadily pulsing light drawing closer and closer. Crowley’s grip on Aziraphale’s arm was vice-like, and Diya drew closer, her eyes wide with disbelief. 

The wind picked up, and a shadowy shape drew closer. They ran for the edge of the field, Aziraphale panting and lagging as Crowley dragged him along.

Though they were by the hedge that faced the road, there was silence except for the low hum which drowned everything else out. They turned, and above them, the ship hovered, a huge silvered disk hanging in the sky. Gradually, the hum quieted, and as it did, the disk descended until it hovered only metres above the ground.

Diya’s jaw hung open, her camera clutched loosely at her side.

“I am not seeing what I think I’m seeing.”

A ramp descended from the side of the disk, landing with a quiet thump on the grass.

“So it really is true.” said Crowley in a dry tone. “I wonder what part they play in the Plan.”

Aziraphale threw him a warning glance.

“Were extraterrestrials mentioned in genesis?” Crowley continued, heedless, but his voice trailed off into silence.

It walked heavily down the ramp, it’s head lolling slightly to the side and it’s huge black eyes never blinking.  As it approached, it’s back straightened and it’s steps grew more purposeful, adapting to Earth’s gravity.

“Greetings.” it said, stopping in front of them. Crowley stared at it, trying to locate it’s mouth.

“Hi.” said Crowley, for a lack of anything else to say. Diya gave a hysterical giggle.

“You too are unlike the others.” it said, tilting it’s head to the side.

“Sure.” said Crowley, taking a step forward with a confidence he didn’t feel. “Tell us what you want.”

Diya took hurried steps backwards.

“You can understand it?” She asked in an accusatory tone, terror filling her eyes.

Crowley went to step towards her but thought better of it, held up his hands in what he hoped was a calming gesture.

“I- We’ll explain later.” he said, aware of Aziraphale leaning heavily on his shoulder. He sent a wave of good intent at her, hoping it would be enough. She was definitely too strong-willed to be influenced in the conventional way. Besides, it didn’t seem right, somehow. 

“We wish to understand the extent of your abilities.” the alien said, it’s huge eyes glimmering in the low light. It was intent on a device held in it’s long, green fingers.

“Particularly the effects of the energy you are producing.”

Crowley looked down at Aziraphale whose eyes were glazed over, then at the alien life-form standing just meters away/ 

“I’ll come willingly,” He said. He might learn something himself. “as long as you reverse whatever you’ve done to him.

He indicated to Aziraphale with his free hand. 

“It’s killing him.”

“Yes.” intoned the being. 

Crowley gently lowered Aziraphale to the ground and stepped away. The alien lifted its device and pointed it at the angel’s prone body. Aziraphale did not move. 

“It is done.” the alien beckoned with its hand. Crowley looked between them, torn. At last, he looked to Diya.

“Get him back to the hotel?” he asked, not particularly liking the pleading tone of his voice.

She didn’t say anything, but he felt sure she wouldn’t leave him in the field. He followed the alien up the ramp and into the craft.

 

…

 

Aziraphale squinted against the sudden bright light. He felt much more awake, his head no longer heavy.

“Um - Azira - Azura..?” He opened his eyes reluctantly to find Diya leaning over him tapping his face.

“Wuh?” He managed, sitting up slowly, waking up in this blasted field for the second time that day.

“There was a UFO - a flying saucer and the clouds came across and then this - this alien came out and Crowley could understand it and then he went onto the spaceship and then it went and so did the clouds and then you woke up!” she said emphatically, jostling him with her arms as she gesticulated. 

“He what?” Aziraphale sat up faster than he probably should have. “That self sacrificing-” 

“What should we do?” asked Diya, looking very much like she knew exactly what she wanted to do, but felt it would be impolite to impose.

“I suppose there’s no way of tracking him.” He said uncertainly, feeling as if he should stay in the field in the vain hope that Crowley would return.

“If we go back to the hotel I can contact BUFORA,” said Diya “Anita works for the weather station. She’s tracked UFOs by unexpected changes in weather patterns in the past. Once we even found a crop circle.”

Aziraphale nodded and stood up slowly, offering Diya his hand and hauling her off the ground.

“Gary says that the pigeons tell him about strange objects in the sky, too.” Diya said earnestly as they left the field. Somehow, Aziraphale was uncertain of how successful their efforts would be.

 

…

 

Crowley felt extremely uncomfortable. Surrounded on all sides by staring extraterrestrials, he stood on a circular platform. The urge to run, or shield himself from their scrutiny in some way was almost overpowering, but he forced himself to stand confidently. 

“You are unlike the other.” croaked a voice to his left. “Your genetics are close to a reptile’s, but you are humanoid.”

“Personal preference.” Crowley shrugged coolly, shrinking internally. They’d taken his shades and everything was brighter than he was comfortable with.

A cylinder was placed at his feet.

“You will use your ability to transform the cylinder to something native to your earth.” said another. A horizontal line of light tracked down his body, over and over. On the wall, a screen showed the movement of energy in his body - a steady blue block at his head, and smaller impulses snaking along his limbs.

The being directly in front of him bared it’s curiously round teeth impatiently at him and he snapped back to focus. He concentrated his energy at the cylinder and with a persuasive lift of his eyebrows, a steaming mug of tea landed with a clink it it’s place. Crowley frowned. That wasn’t what he had been aiming for - not that it really made a difference. On the screen, he could see blue strings of energy leaving him, focused on a point off-screen.

“Their technology is beyond ours.” said a voice behind him. Crowley turned, uncomfortably aware that he just turned his back on bared teeth. “However, we have already seen that we can disable them.”

“Then there is no issue. We will commence mining within their next solar day.”

 

\---

 

“Hello, yes.” said Diya, the phone clamped to her ear and her fingers winding in the curly cord. “Can you connect me to Anita Harris?” 

Aziraphale looked on, bemused.

“No, she works in Seasonal Forecasting” Anita frowns.”A meeting? Can I call back later? twenty minutes? Thanks.”

She put down the phone, frowning.

“I’ve never known one of Anita’s meetings to last less than an hour.” She sighed, consulting an address book that looked far too large to have fit in her handbag. Aziraphale wondered vaguely where you could buy such large address books. “I’ll call Gary whilst we wait.”

This time, she didn’t have to wait more than a few seconds before her call was answered.

“Hey. Gary? It’s Diya.” She scowled. “No. No, no I-- I have a favour to ask, Gary-” 

Aziraphale picked through the complementary tea and instant coffee. Perhaps there was time for one cup, to soothe his nerves. He put the kettle on to boil and sat in wait.

They had been forced to leave the Bentley behind by the field when it had refused to open for anyone who wasn’t Crowley, and the long trudge back to the hotel had done little to calm him. If they were going to do anything to help Crowley, they needed to do it quickly, Aziraphale was sure of it.

“Right.” said Diya, looking harassed. Aziraphale pushed a mug of tea into her hands, which she accepted gratefully. “Gary tells me that there is a possible UFO heading South-West along the M25.”

She took a sip of tea and flicked through her address-book absentmindedly.

“I know Gary doesn’t seem reliable, but if we wait for Anita, it may be too late - he says it’s likely it will leave the earth’s orbit soon.”

Aziraphale gave her an uncertain look, and she shrugged.

“It’s the best we can do.”

 

\---

 

Crowley stood to the side as an alien typed and typed at the keyboard in the corner of the room, the ceiling overhead lighting up with words and symbols moving too fast to read. 

“Flight trajectory has been calculated.” said the alien. “Flight trajectory set in.”

“How long until we leave the atmosphere?” asked the one who had controlled the scanner earlier. Crowley was beginning to mix them up - they looked so similar, and the ship was pointlessly mood-lit.

“Half of an earth hour.”

“Prepare the incendiaries. As soon as we are clear, the surface must be prepared for the miners.”

There was a long silence broken only by the alien’s shuffling around the ship and the whirring of Crowley’s mind. They were going to destroy the Earth. His home. If only he could-

“I- I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Crowley said suddenly, struck with inspiration. They all turned to face him with dark, empty eyes, and his resolve wobbled dangerously.

“Yes?” one prompted.

“You see, beings like me are not the full extent of earth’s defences.” He said. The aliens looked among themselves, then simultaneously turned their huge eyed stares on him. He bit back a hiss of terror and forced confidence into his voice. “We are merely soldiers of the - uh - the Almighty God!”

“Ah.” the being spoke, with a glutinous bubbling sound which could have been laughter. “A primitive god? We have no fear of imaginary deities.”

“God is real.” He smiled wide, balling his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. “They are the all-powerful protector. They will strike you down before allowing you to do any damage.”

“And what proof do you have of this… God.”

“I’ve met Them.” said Crowley, making sure to pronounce the capital T. It was technically not a lie, although he hadn’t known it was Them at the time. Jesus Christ had been hard to pin down.

The being by the keyboard made a curious muttering noise which was met by glares from the others. 

“We will confer.” decided the leader, leaving the room trailed by the others. Crowley slumped at the momentary relief.

…

 

“I don’t understand how there was a taxi already outside the hotel” Diya mused. “There are never taxi’s just around in that area. I know because my sister lived out here and I always had to phone for one.”

Aziraphale looked out of the window sheepishly. He always just expected taxis to be where he needed them. After all, they always were when he was in London. He peered around the seat at the driver’s speedometer. Fifty miles per hour? This was a national speed limit zone, wasn’t it? He peered out of the window at the clear sky.

“Should be about another two miles.” said Diya.

\---

 

Crowley looked around. He felt exposed standing up, but didn’t want to sit down and look less confident. He turned around, staring at the stark grey walls of the ship. Now that the computer was out of use it looked cold and grey. Inert. He couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that he wasn’t going to be convincing enough, that they were going to go ahead and destroy the Earth despite his best efforts.

“We have decided.” Said the leader, returning. Crowley whipped around to face it.

“Yes?” He said, lifting his chin defiantly.

“If your God is so powerful, you will compel Them to give us a sign.”

“Of course. The Almighty God listens to all of Their servant’s prayers.” said Crowley hurriedly. It wasn’t technically untrue but there’s no way he can get Them to turn up on a whim, and especially not to those who aren’t servants of God. He briefly wondered if he could summon Lucifer, but was sure that that could only make matters worse. Crowley looked at the aliens and, with no real plan in mind, sank to his knees.

“Oh Great and Almighty God, forgive my trespasses against your name,” He began, arms raised to the ceiling. Perhaps he could miracle- but they would be able to tell, the scanner would pick it up. “Seer of all that is unseen, creator of Heaven and Earth and all who live in those - er - realms”

The leader eyed him impatiently. Crowley let his hands fall to his sides.

“Oh Lord, I must ask of you a favor.” Crowley continued. “Light of Light, True God, before me stand unholy creatures not of your creation.”

That was debatable, considered Crowley, although there were very few bibles which mentioned extraterrestrials in genesis.

“I ask that you- that you strike down their air-ship from the sky, unless- uh- unless…”

...

 

“There it is!” exclaimed Diya, pointing out of the front window. “There! Look! Gary was right!” 

At first Aziraphale couldn’t see it, but as the car drove on it grew larger and larger.

“It’s coming towards us!” he almost shouted, caught up in the excitement. “Stop the car!”

The cabbie obligingly pulled over into the hard shoulder. Jumping out of the car, Aziraphale watched it grow closer. What was he going to do? What had he hoped to achieve by coming out here? What had he even been - never mind that, no time now, the ship was building speed. Soon it would be gone. His eyes landed on Diya’s umbrella poking out of the side of her handbag.

“Pass me your umbrella.” he said, eyes never leaving the sky

“What?” she said, confused.

“Your umbrella.” he said. She fumbled in with the clasp of her handbag. The ship was overhead, heading off towards the horizon. The umbrella was in his hands. He unfurled it, pointing it upward. What was he doing? Surely he there was nothing he could- if he was going to do this, he didn’t have time to think about it. He concentrated hard, the umbrella gripped in both hands.

\---

 

“...Unless they swear allegiance to the holy spirit.” Crowley remained kneeling. “Uh- Thank you, O Lord, for your patience in our mortal toil, we will worship you forever and-”

The floor beneath him began to shake. Crowley opened his eyes. Surely his terrible, botched prayer hadn’t worked. Turbulence, maybe. But the aliens looked unnerved. A green light began to blink over the doorway. Back at the keyboard, the alien typed at high speed.

“..ever. O Holy Ghost, save us from our… sins once again.”

\---

“CROWLEY” shouted Aziraphale, his voice echoing unnaturally. The umbrella felt hot and heavy in his hands. He dropped it to the floor, suddenly exhausted.

\---

 

Thunder cracked loudly and the ship rocked violently. Crowley was knocked to the floor, but he didn’t feel particularly afraid. That thunder had sounded suspiciously like his name.

“We will-” the leader began, but had to grab the control panel for balance. “We will swear allegiance.”

Crowley shook his head in wonder.

“We will leave this planet in peace.” it said. The ship righted slowly. The light above the doorway stilled.

\---

 

“So, after the freak storm, they believed what you said about God?” asked Diya, scribbling notes in a notepad for some unfathomable reason - she was already recording the interview on tape.

“Yes, the freak storm,” said Crowley, dryly, glancing over at Aziraphale with raised eyebrows. “The leader said it would swear allegiance to God and leave the planet in peace.”

Aziraphale visibly cringed. Crowley smirked.

“Thank you so much Mr Crowley,” Said Diya, shaking his hand enthusiastically. “This is going to be the most interesting newsletter since - well. You may even make it into the papers!”

“I’m sure Hastur would love that” Crowley muttered under his breath. Luckily, she didn’t seem to hear him.

“I’ll send you a copy when it comes out.” she said, picking up her coat and heading for the door. “Have a good evening!”

“Pledge allegiance.” said Aziraphale once she was out of the door, shaking his head. “Surely you could have come up with something better, dear.”

“I was running out of ideas.” said Crowley with a grin. “That storm was very convenient. Very strange, too.”

Aziraphale coloured guiltily, and joined Crowley on the sofa.

“The fate of the earth was in the balance, you know.”

“Yes, but you didn’t know that.”

“Oh do shut up."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
